Michelle Shocked & Dwight Yoakam & Caitlin Cary/Thad Cockrell

Michelle Shocked has often accused the music industry of treating her wrong, but then, she's the kind of iconoclastic, rootsy artist who tends to fall between the show-business cracks. It was easier for Shocked in the late '80s, when "the new folk" movement was ascendant and her itinerant-punk Woody Guthrie shtick caught the fancy of the college-rock crowd. By the time Shocked shifted from the hummable protest songs and character sketches of her early albums to the semi-strident "history of Americana" that followed, her casual fans had moved on to Tracy Chapman and/or Ani DiFranco. So Shocked went the indie route, self-releasing albums that ran her traditional folk moves through filters of gospel and island rhythms. And now, Shocked aims to bring back some of her old audience with the splashy simultaneous release of three new records: the fairly straightforward Don't Ask Don't Tell, the mariachi-influenced Mexican Standoff, and Got No Strings, a roundup of western-swing-styled Disney movie songs. The trio is available separately or in a budget-priced box set titled Threesome.

When an artist puts out multiple albums at the same time, the standard complaint is that she should've combined them into a single superior disc, but it's hard to imagine Threesome's widely varying styles co-existing comfortably. It's also hard to imagine how anyone could navigate this ocean of new material and pluck out enough edible fish to fill a basket. Each disc has its virtues: Got No Strings is laced with wide-eyed charm, Mexican Standoff has a bluesy border authenticity, and Don't Ask Don't Tell is endearingly nutty with its sprawling folk tales, love songs, and social commentary. But each disc is fundamentally flawed as well: Got No Strings is too laboriously twee, Mexican Standoff is too studied, and Don't Ask Don't Tell is frequently gawky and wince-inducing in its portraits of a relationship in crisis. Songs as easy and catchy as Don't Ask's "Evacuation Route" and "Fools Like Us" don't come around often enough. Shocked's remaining fans will probably admire what she's attempting here, but those who haven't checked in on her in a while will be surprised to find her trying so hard and thinking too much.

On Dwight Yoakam's latest album, Blame The Vain, the problem isn't overthinking so much as restlessness. But it's not a huge problem. Blame The Vain holds primarily to the springy honky-tonk rock that's been Yoakam's default mode since he debuted in the mid-'80s, though he stretches out a little on the bongo-powered "Intentional Heartache" and a lot on "She'll Remember," which starts off as a synth-washed modern-rock dirge before brightening up and heading back into country. The slight excursions into new genres don't go very far, and they make some of the straighter music sound rote by comparison, but about the worst that can be said about Blame The Vain is that songs like the jangly country anthem "When I First Came Here" are professional-grade.

That's also about the worst that can be said of Caitlin Cary and Thad Cockrell's collaborative album Begonias, an album that's as tastefully staid and seamlessly stellar as their prior solo work. Cockrell's high-and-dry twang and Cary's deep croon meet somewhere in the middle of each other's registers, making this a rare duet album where the principals seem to be aping each other rather than going for contrast. When they hit on the gently rocking country of "Two Different Things," "Something Less Than Something More," and "Second Option," it sounds like they're channeling songs that have always been floating around in the atmosphere, waiting to be breathed in and out. Particularly when compared to Shocked's flop-sweat, Cary and Cockrell seem effortless.